


Beneath your fingertips

by venom_for_free



Category: SK8 the Infinity (Anime)
Genre: Best Friends, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Consent, Cute, Domestic, Feels, First Time, Firsts, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Happy Ending, Humor, LGBTQ Themes, Light-Hearted, Love, M/M, One Shot, Pining, Post-Canon, Romance, Sex, Sexual Content, Smut, relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29247552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venom_for_free/pseuds/venom_for_free
Summary: "Hey." Langa startles a little when Reki kicks his side. Why would he do that? No idea, but it’s how they communicate, so Langa doesn't complain. Stopped a while ago. At this point, he lets Reki do his thing and enjoys his silent company. Most of the time.People get a lot of things wrong about Langa's best friend. Because yes, Reki can be loud, wild, almost obnoxious. But he is also collected, focused, and sometimes almost introverted in the way he approaches things.Not right now, though. Right now, Reki wants something, and he will pursue his dreams until he gets what he wants. So Langa moves onto his side and blinks. "Hm?""Sometimes … do you sometimes wonder what happens … after?"--or: Reki and Langa have a sleepover, but when usually they talk about skating and school, things are different now. Existential questions and tender touches follow, that lead up to something more.
Relationships: Hasegawa Langa/Kyan Reki
Comments: 39
Kudos: 560





	Beneath your fingertips

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadamRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadamRed/gifts).



> I had to, I was dragged into this and I will not apologize.   
> Please enjoy all the tenderness and gentleness that young love brings. 
> 
> Inspired by MadamRed's sleepover story because she is a perfect angel.

"Hey." Langa startles a little when Reki kicks his side. Why would he do that? No idea, but it’s how they communicate, so Langa doesn't complain. Stopped a while ago. At this point, he lets Reki do his thing and enjoys his silent company. Most of the time. 

People get a lot of things wrong about Langa's best friend. Because yes, Reki can be loud, wild, almost obnoxious. But he is also collected, focused, and sometimes almost introverted in the way he approaches things. 

Not right now, though. Right now, Reki wants something, and he will pursue his dreams until he gets what he wants. So Langa moves onto his side and blinks. "Hm?" 

"Sometimes … do you sometimes wonder what happens … after?"

Langa rolls back and stares at the ceiling once more. He can't see much else, anyway; the room has been dark for quite a while, and they are supposed to sleep. But … as it seems, they both struggle with that concept right now. "After? Well, after, we pick up the boards, talk about bets for the next week, and—" 

"No. Not after the race." 

Langa turns his head, blinks slowly. "What then?" He can only see outlines, but it kind of seems more polite to still look at Reki.

"I'm not talking about skating." 

Wow. That's a first. Well, not a  _ first  _ first. But it's definitely uncommon. "After school, then?" 

"No …" Reki seems almost hesitant. Slow. Insecure in a way Langa doesn't know him to be. "In general. Just … what comes after?" 

Oh shit, is this a life after death situation? Are they going to talk about religion? He's utterly unprepared for this. Not because he doesn't have opinions, but … heck, he's just not ready. So maybe that's the answer. "I don't know." Silence. That can't be what Reki had in mind. He probably wanted something out of this or he wouldn't have—"What do you think?" 

Next to him, his best friend shifts. They are looking at each other now, even though they can't see well. Langa smiles, the tiny, tender movement of his lips hidden in the dark because that's where he feels safe to be himself. When Reki can't see how sappy he might look.

"I … are you going back? To Canada?" 

Oh. Not a life or death situation, then. Not a  _ situation  _ at all because, "No. Mom finally works in a company that pays her well, and …" Back in Canada are so many memories he doesn't want to—doesn't need to revisit. "No, we will stay." 

"Ah." 

"Yeah." They breathe each other's silence until Langa realizes he didn't return the question. "And you? Will you stay?  _ After? _ " He's still not really sure what 'after' is supposed to mean, but it's probably important to Reki if it keeps him awake. 

"I won't leave." The words are exhaled into the air between them. When did they get so close? Langa could extend his hand, reach out, touch Reki without much effort, and—no. That would be weird, wouldn't it? Friends don't touch each other's faces in the dark. 

Not even during sleepovers. Not even after rushing down a hill full of obstacles at breakneck speed on a thin piece of wood and plastic. But Reki likes to hug whenever they complete a race, so … Langa reaches out. His hand lands between them, more to Reki's side but not enough to form the connection he kind of, sort of craves. But Reki fixes that. He pushes his hand up, aligns their palms. Like a high five, but resting. Staying. 

And after what seems like hours but is probably just a bunch of seconds, Reki links their fingers. 

Oh heck, how is Langa supposed to breathe? How is he supposed to focus? 

Fight or flight is stronger than the rational brain, so he pulls his hand back. There's no way to make out Reki's expression, but … some clenching sensation in his gut tells Langa they might be in trouble here. Did he offend his best friend? Because that could lead to serious problems. 

Langa tries to salvage it. "During that fall, earlier, did you … get hurt?" The question is stupid; Langa knows the answer. After all, he put the band-aids on Reki's arm, shoulder, and face. But … "Your back looked like it took a pretty hard hit. I could … do you want a massage?" Why is talking so hard? Whenever a board is strapped to his feed, being brave, almost suave, is easy. But now, hidden in the dark, alone with his inner demons and darkest desires? Oh, that's scary. 

But Reki snorts a little. "Uh. Yes, sure?" Disbelief colors his voice. He probably thinks Langa won't go through with it. But he's stubborn, they both are, and so Langa climbs on Reki's back to give him the best massage this part of the world has ever seen.  This is a challenge now, and Langa hates backing down. He won’t. 

"Your shirt." That request is brave. Reki will probably call it quits and let Langa win their battle of wills. By default. Because there is no way he would—holy. Uh … Wow.  Reki moves around and pulls the shirt off. For a moment, Langa stares into the darkness, but then his eyes travel down, even though there’s nothing to see,  his fingers ghosting over the expanse of skin beneath him. It's hard to see even the outlines, but the heat … there's so much heat coming from Reki. 

Fingers dance over soft skin, tease tension out of a warm, willing body. It's almost cathartic to take care of someone like this if it wasn’t for— 

"Aaaaaaaaah." Reki buries his face in a pillow and muffles his own groan. But somehow that's worse. If it were unobstructed, slipping out of his mouth without an afterthought … urgh, that would be bad enough. Now, though, Reki actively tries to deprive Langa of the  intimate sounds . And can't. 

Whimpers, mumbles, and moans slip free from  seemingly unwilling lips. Hips twitch beneath Langa, and  _ oh god, _ would he love to grind down against them—wait. No. He can't. Friends don't grind against their friends. Not even when they moan desperately in the dark. That's … it's breaking some limit, breaching an invisible line. 

People like to say they share a singular brain cell. Langa hates that most of the time because people underestimate them quite a lot, but … right now, it might as well be true. 

Whenever Reki groans, Langa has to force himself to remain silent. It would be so much easier to echo the tense notes, but, well, the one who gives the massage really has no excuses. Besides, most of Langa's mental capacity is filtered into making sure his erection won't noticeably rub over the slope of Reki's ass. 

It would be so easy to buck against the soft, inviting warmth. But it would also be so wrong. Urgh, Langa bites his tongue, swallows his distress and pleasure, and most definitely, absolutely doesn't grind against his best friend's ass. 

He likes boys. He’s always liked boys. But he also likes girls. And … well, basically Langa likes people. And Reki a bit more than most. Which is understandable if he looks at the hard facts. 

Reki took him under his wing from the moment they met. He was never too good to explain something, too professional to reach Langa, too arrogant to endure his practice. No. Reki made his first board, customized it, took him to his very first race, and taught Langa how to jump, even when the board isn't attached to his feet. So for a while, he assumed him liking Reki a little more is natural. 

And then came this summer together. Days at the beach with awkward random boners, tickles and tingles up and down his spine when Reki talked too long to someone else, and the strange sensation of  _ home _ far away from home during long nights beneath the stars. Or in Reki's room, like right now. 

Feeling so much and knowing so little is overwhelming. It makes Langa's head spin, his grip tight, his hips twitchy. So much so, he doesn't notice Reki's panting until it's the only thing he hears. Loud. Broken. Distraught. Hot. Oh God, so hot. 

"Now you." Reki turns to look over his shoulder, even though Langa only knows that from the shift of muscles beneath firm, heated skin. 

"Me?" 

"I'm going to … to return the favor! Take your shirt off." Not a question, more an order. If he didn't know better, Langa would say Reki's voice is tinted with anger. But they've been friends for quite a while now, so he’s aware of what Reki’s determination sounds like. 

Langa climbs off of him and pulls his shirt over his head,  hands fumbling. He gets caught in the fabric a few times, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to manage as smoothly as possible. When the fabric is finally off his upper body and bundled up, he drops it. The two pajamas pieces mingle next to them, but neither of the boys pay them any mind,  not when their heavy breaths ghost around them like promises . Not when Reki climbs onto Langa's ass with a determination that can only be described as fierce. 

And fuck. Langa's face lands in the pillow. Hands trace his hardened back muscles, find tension points, drill into them. Langa does his humanly best not to sound too much like a porn star,  but oh god, his erection is pressing right into the bed by their combined body weight. Can you be incredibly comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time? He's still twitching and jerking, but the sensation is different. Langa wants to keep the noises to himself, so he won't wake the house, and especially so Reki won't feel objectified, but … it's hard. He's hard. 

On his back, Reki shifts. He reaches higher, squeezes the tension out of Langa's shoulders, and adjusts his hips when—that's a dick, pressing into the cleft of his ass. A hard dick, distinctly, brushing over pressure-sensitive skin. 

That changes everything. Or does it? 

Langa chews over a dozen potential explanations why his friend might sport a hard-on, but … none of them seem particularly heterosexual. So he does the only reasonable thing: angles his hips, presses back against the hardness, and turns his head to groan into the darkness instead of the pillowcase. 

The effect is immediate. Reki shifts on top of him, whines, and there's that breathless, soft panting again. So this is what it is. Or wait, does the noise come from  _ himself  _ instead? When did Langa start breathing as if he just ran a marathon? He swallows, and from one moment to the other, they are stuck in motionless silence. 

They both know. 

They both don't know anything at all. 

"Langa …" a flat palm brushes down his back before two hands land next to his head. "Tell me to stop." 

What? No. Why would he? Langa twists to look at his friend, mouth open and slightly wet.  _ I can't. But  _ the words won't come out, so instead, he arches his back, pushes his hips up, grinds where Reki meets him. 

Fuck. It shouldn't be so good. But it's not just the sensation; it’s the soundtrack of Reki, breathless, wracked, panting just for him. "Tell me to stop, Langa." It breaks out of his friend as a whimper, and this time, Langa forces himself to be courageous. 

"I can't. I don't want to." 

  
  


Above him, Reki makes a choked noise. So Langa reaches, lays his hand on top, holds him tight. "We can't—" 

"I want you to." 

"But I’ve never—" 

"Me neither." They never need many words. Langa squeezes his hand again, desperate now with his goal so close now, even though he hadn't known it existed a day ago. "But I want you to." 

"I'm not going to last," Reki whispers, as if he's confessing a shameful secret. 

So Langa squeezes his hand a third time. "You don't need to." He doesn't really know what he's talking about, but above him, Reki chokes on a groan before his hips begin to move again. 

This time, he doesn't touch Langa's  _ back _ . Instead, clothes glide over clothes, delivering delicious friction and promises of a million maybes.

Reki is shaking within seconds, gasping soon after, and moaning before Langa can even think about his hand going down to his own arousal. 

He expects Reki to get off like this. He doesn't expect the warm-wet sensation splattering over his naked back when Reki's hips twitch so hard, it raises him off Langa's ass. 

A second of confusion, then Langa's head snaps around, desperate to catch a glimpse of his … well. Reki.  _ That  _ part of Reki. But it's still dark. And apparently, his erratic movement is too surprising, too hectic, because Reki backs away and almost falls off the bed. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm so sorry. I—fuck, I don't know what—I didn't want it in my pants and—holy fuck, Langa, I—" 

"Can you get a tissue?" He does  his best to sound calm, not judgemental, even with his breath coming in short pants.  "I'm still ... Uh, I … don't want to just roll over and—"

"Oh my god, of course! I'm so sorry. I—" 

"Reki?" 

"Hm?" 

"The tissue." His friend quiets and rushes to grab a box before he drops back onto the bed and begins to gingerly rub off the residue from their little … experiment. 

Reki is so gentle, so careful. That alone is enough for Langa to curl into the sensation like a happy, fat cat. "I didn't mean to … I didn't think. I'm really sorry—" 

"Reki?" 

"Hm?" 

Langa smiles at him. Not that Reki could see even a hint of it, but … maybe he can feel the vibe coming off of Langa. They have always been strangely in sync. "As long as it's not stuck in my hair …" 

Above him, his friend makes a very scared noise, and a second later, there's erratic wiping at the base of his skull. "I don't think—That's probably not—I just want to be sure." 

Langa nods, lets Reki do his thing. He's still aroused; after all, the other’s hands on his body are a pleasant sensation. But with his chin pressed to his chest, he offers the back of his neck to Reki. 

Eventually, the tissue is gone, tossed into black nothingness surrounding them, and … oh, Reki substitutes the desperate rubbing along his body with his lips. A kiss, whispered into the crook of his neck, then a pause. Langa groans quietly, face once more pressed into the pillow, and as it seems, that's all Reki needs. 

More little pecks trail down his spine, twinned by tingling heat. Reki stops where his pajama bottoms begin and urgh. Why didn't he continue? Would it have been too much, and—strong hands grip his hips, twist him, and now, Langa is presented like a buffet to a wildcat. He doesn't need to see to know his pants are tented—tented and, oh heck, slightly wet where his tip soaked admiration into the fabric. 

That's where Reki's lips find him. The most sensitive part of his body, kissed by the person Langa wants in his life most. Fuck, he doesn't curse often, but today is the day. Langa manages to stifle his outside voice into a pitiful whimper, but only with great effort. 

But it seems to motivate Reki. Wet hot lips ghost over his length, puff heated air through the thin fabric and onto his searing flesh. Langa pulls a pillow over his face and tries not to choke on his own saliva while he's mouth-breathing. Oh, God. Oh fuck. 

"Reki," a name like a prayer, almost silent but still ringing in the void around them. "Reki, I can't—" The lips on him retreat, and Langa growls in frustration. No! That's not what he meant. "I won't last!" he hisses Reki's own words back at him. 

"Oh." The molten kiss is back immediately, exploring his body, without a doubt mapping a region of him Reki hasn't known so far. "But I don't want you to." His words aren't entirely coherent, mostly because they are half-whispered around Langa's twitching shaft. And soft gasp fills the looming silence before Reki's fingers hook into his waistband. "Can I?" 

Of course he can. Langa raises his hips, offers all access to his most intimate secrets because the person above him deserves to know. He whimpers when a finger brushes over him, no barrier left. "Oh, God." 

"’Reki’ is enough." For a moment, there's the usual cockiness filling his friend's voice, as if he’s at the top of a half-pipe. But the following exhale stutters, so it's all just for show. Reki leans forward and presses a careful kiss to needy skin. 

When his lips detach, the noise is unfairly loud, must wake half the house, and it leaves Langa unable to breathe. Or maybe it was the sensation itself. Above him, Reki laughs when Langa's greedy body tries its hardest to chase the best feeling it has experienced in quite a while. His hips twitch and his dick rises off his flat stomach, trying to find Reki's lips again. 

But apparently, that's exactly what his lover needs because Reki chuckles with a confidence he seemed to lack just moments ago, and— _ lover _ . Langa takes a shaky breath. Is this what they are now? "Reki—" Maybe he should diversify his exclamations, but how, when the other man is all Langa can think about?

"Hm?" 

"Kiss me." He surprises himself with the needy tone, the breathless request. "Please." 

And Reki, the godsent? Reki indulges him as he always does because half the time, he knows what Langa needs before Langa can even think about it. So he moves until their lips are locked, then holds still. Hands find jawbones, hold on, desperate. Warm. Loving.  _ Lover.  _

Langa groans into Reki's mouth, and before he can think about it, Langa’s hips roll yet again. It's embarrassing for a hot second, but then Reki presses down and pushes back and—wow. Is he hard? Langa blinks upward. "Can I … touch?" Only now does Langa realize he barely got his own hands onto Reki and that in itself should be a crime. 

"Please." Breathless. So he cups Reki's ass and—"Can you hold me?" Oh lord, how is Langa supposed to survive this? He squeezes, and Reki answers by grinding their bodies together. "I've been—I’ve thought about this. You. Ever since the first time I saw you fly."

"That was ages ago … You never said anything." 

"I said something now." Then Reki rolls off of him and curls closer, so they are touching in all the right places, face to face. Lips to lips.  _ Tender _ . 

It doesn't stay like that for long, though, not when they reach for each other's palms like drowning sailors, holding onto the swim ring with all their strength. Their kisses turn into bites within seconds, hands needy in their exploration of uncharted lands. 

Clothes fall until they are bare. And Langa curses the darkness once more because his fingertips are already tingling from all the new sensations. Still, he hasn't taken in nearly enough. 

"I want to feel you." Reki's confession is as gentle and careful as his fingers when he binds Langa's injuries. But what does it mean? They can't—they shouldn't—he doesn't mean—right?

"How?" 

Reki turns in his arms, presses his naked butt to Langa's aching flesh. That alone might be enough if he thinks about it too hard. As it is, Langa struggles to hold his hips still. They want to thrust. They want to buck against his best friend, feel him, feel every bit of him, but … 

They don't know enough about this. And no matter what, Langa won't hurt his best friend. He chews his lip, desperation twisting his gut one way or another.

"Can you …" Reki presses back insistently. 

"Have you ever …" 

The faint outline of Reki's head is jostled when he shakes his head. "No, but …" 

"Are you sure?" 

"'m sure."

"And you want me to—" 

"Langaaaa. Please." The last bit is whined against a pillow. Fuck. This is awkward. But need burns red hot between his legs, heavy and desperate, and Reki doesn't seem to doing much better. "Please." It comes out almost broken, so, fuck it. 

One hand on Reki's hip, Langa uses the other to stabilize the base of his shaft. And now? "Wh-where …" The missing illumination of the room around them doesn't help. 

"My … you need to stick it into my—" Oh, he knows where to stick it. But how? How on earth is he supposed to find the right angle, the right moves, the right—Reki reaches behind, grabs his tip, and guides it. Fuck, that is the strangest feeling. Langa bucks into the loose circle of fingers around his tip. 

Not because he thinks it's a good idea.

He just doesn't think. 

No, he's twitching, jerking, groaning into a mass of wild hair as Reki directs him around like a marionette. "Here." Then Langa is left alone in this new place, Reki pulling his hand back almost too quickly. Is he ashamed? No. He asked for this. Right? 

"Do you want this?" 

"Langa, for fuck's sake—" 

Well, fine. Langa pushes forward. He wouldn't describe it as  _ swift _ . More like, desperate. 

Reki yells. 

Fuck. 

Langa pulls back, eyes wide in horror. What happened? He was supposed to—right? 

The rushed tapping of feet echoes down the hallway, and Reki's door is thrust open. The room is suddenly white, light searing their strained eyes, and both boys hiss and groan and try to hide until—

"Are … you okay?" 

Reki's mom. Oh, God. Oh no. Langa instinctively pulls back the arm that still holds his best friend. Fuck. They have a blanket, but … they are very obviously not wearing shirts. Shirts they wore when they went to bed. 

Langa hides against the pillow. Oh, God. Oh fuck. Miss Kyan asks twice more if Reki is okay and if they need something. Then, she's gone, taking the bright light with her. 

Cool. So … Reki's mom now knows they messed around. Nice. Not a big deal. Langa wants to die. Or maybe, simply stop to exist. It doesn't need to be the most radical solution. Just … disappearing would be nice. 

And then, when the silence continues, he registers again that Reki screamed. Oh lord, he hurt him. The shame, the worry, the disgust with himself are enough to drag Langa out of his thought spiral, and he raises his head so he can look at his best friend, even if they can't see each other. "I'm … so sorry … are you … are you okay?" 

Reki … coughs. Awkward silence, then "I'm … yeah." He doesn't sound fine, but what are they supposed to do? Or say? 

"I'm sorry." 

"I asked you to." 

"I didn't know it would hurt you! I wouldn't have—" 

"I wanted this." Reki … he doesn't sound  _ broken _ , but he sounds close. So Langa cups his cheeks, pulls him closer. They kiss. But none of the previous hunger tints the caress of lips red hot. No, this time it's … comfort. "I wanted this." 

Langa nods because what else is he supposed to do? "I don't want to hurt you." 

"Can I just … can we …" Reki's hand falls between them, cups their dicks, but they’re no longer filled with blood and need. Not after the pain or his mother bursting in. "FUCK." He hisses it, but the enthusiasm with which Reki expresses the word says everything. "I … I  _ wanted  _ this." 

So Langa pulls him in. Another kiss. Careful. Hesitant. Langa never knew how many things he could say without his vocal cords. 

_ Lover.  _

But he still speaks, just to ensure Reki hears everything. "We can try again? It's like … learning a new move. Sometimes you stumble, but …" 

Next to him, Reki sniffles. "But it's not fair. I got to—and you didn't—and my mom—" 

Another kiss. Langa doesn't want to silence him, though, just to comfort. "It took me a million tries to do my first Ollie. But now I'm better than you." A bold lie, but Reki chuckles nonetheless. 

"This isn't like skating." 

"No. I'm not wearing any pants." That gets him another snort-laugh. Damn, Reki's amusement is marvelous. 

"So we’ll try again?" 

"Promise." They find each other's pinkie fingers and entwine them. 

And for a while, they just lie there. Breathing. Kissing.  _ Loving _ ?

"So this is what happens  _ 'after.’ _ " Langa blinks, and the very beginning of their conversation returns to him. 

_ Sometimes … do you sometimes wonder what happens … after? _

He takes Reki's hand where their fingers are still touching and guides it to his lips. "There is no  _ after _ . There's just you and me and—" Langa glares at the first bits of sunlight licking the walls. "—and another day of  _ us _ ." 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> That was the first, but probably not the last Renga fic I wrote. I hope you enjoyed it!
>
>> Thank you, as always, to my wonderful editor [Taedae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taedae/pseuds/Taedae), and to you as the reader.  
> I'm also on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/venom-for-free)[, Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/venom_for_free/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/venom_for_free)


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